Surrendering To Her Sergeant (13 page)

Treasure. He had to have found the
perfect word for it, hadn’t he?

But sometimes treasure was cursed.
Especially if the wrong person found it. Especially if they weren’t
the one meant to have it. The treasure always knew that part,
didn’t it? And then it turned to dust.

With a heavy gulp, she pivoted and
picked up her bra.

“I have to get back to work.” She
deliberately picked panties and slacks next. That made it easier to
keep her gaze down, away from where he’d be able to see it. To
probe her in that way where he could read her thoughts in 3D. Her
thoughts weren’t his business now. And her heart sure as hell
wasn’t his “treasure.”

He finally moved. The very air seemed
to shift around him as he did, like afterburn of his ire. With two
violent sweeps, he scooped his own stuff off the floor but made no
move to get redressed. “Fine,” he spat, “but this is far from over,
Ava.”

She didn’t give him a response. Oh,
she had one, but the chasm between thinking it and saying it was
unbridgeable—and painful. As she jammed her top back over her head
and picked up her boots, that didn’t stop the retort from blasting
open a few tormenting holes inside her head.

The hell it isn’t,
Sergeant Archer. The hell it isn’t.

Ethan had only steadily dated one
woman in the four years since breaking up with Bella. Fallon was an
airline flight attendant who didn’t just understand his insane life
but often had a wackier one. As luck had it, her routes often
landed her close to him if the team was forward deployed to a major
city, making conditions ideal for enjoying each other’s humor,
fondness for foreign food, and passion for hotels with four poster
beds and thick walls.

Though Fallon topped too
damn much from the bottom to be his long-time submissive, Ethan
never sidestepped her aftercare. Yeah, including the cuddling.
Letting Fallon watch
Sex And The
City
reruns always assured he’d get to
shower her with more than ten minutes of it, too. He even tried to
understand the show, though that cartridge never clicked in his
chamber. Did women actually talk like that? Did women
actually
dress
like that? And his gut clenched at watching the scenes where
the women snuck away in the morning light, in such a hurry to get
home and regret what they’d done that they couldn’t bother to put
on their shoes.

Ava left the wine room without putting
on her shoes.

Even through a wardrobe
change, exchanging her work jeans and blouse for a classic black
sun dress with a matching bikini underneath, the shoes were
neglected. He knew it because he kept track with a stare that was
likely a cross between an evil eye and a fuck-off glower. And he
knew
that
because
everyone made distinct efforts to steer clear of him.

Normally, that would be okay. After so
many years of being put on display at Mom and Dad’s soirees,
paraded into jokes about early marriage offers to someone’s sweet
Diana or Lizbet or MarySue, he valued his solitude at things like
this. But tonight was different. Tonight, he wanted to be in the
middle of the room. Right next to Ava. Telling her to put her damn
shoes on and stop looking like she’d killed someone this afternoon,
instead of making him the most fulfilled man on earth.

All right, so Bella lived
on the beach. And once she and the guys arrived for the party,
swimsuits and cocktails made shoes an afterthought for
everyone.
Not
the
thought to make him ease on the demonic stare. He wasn’t going to
settle for hopping back into Ava’s “afterthoughts” basket, a truth
that would start with making the woman talk to him about the real
reason behind her cut-and-run this afternoon.

From what he could see, a palm tree
would work as well as a pine for pin-down purposes. After that, it
was just a matter of creatively guiding the conversation. Thanks to
his hook-up with Bernardo Galvaz three days ago, he was
scalpel-sharp on that skill, too.

All he had to do was wait.

Just a few minutes longer…

He’d watched her carefully from the
juncture of the terrace to the living room. He was dry, having
gotten into his trunks but too tense for a dunk with the guys. Her
swim outfit went unused too, since she hadn’t ventured past the
terrace herself while handling the party logistics. About a half
hour ago, she’d stopped for a plate of food plus a glass of white
wine and a bottle of water for balance. She was breaking into the
second water now because Tait had dared her to a spicy shrimp
eating contest. The result ended in a tie but her cheeks were
adorably red and her eyes watered as she chugged half the bottle. A
trip to the bathroom for relief wasn’t long off.

“Two minutes tops,” he muttered to
himself.

She barely lasted one.

The second Ava turned from Tait, who
now had ten shrimp tails to his fingers and choreographed them to
an off-key version of the latest Lady Gaga hit, Ethan was ready. As
he expected, she headed for the palace-sized bathroom off the
living room’s upper landing. Perfect. He moved as well, starting
down the terrace in a deceptively calm stride. She glanced at his
new course—part of her
I’m-avoiding-you-but-tracking-your-every-move thing with him
now—but the glass between them did its job. After she realized he
was outside, her stride visibly relaxed.

She had no idea, as she closed the
bathroom door, that he’d be past the slider on the far end of the
terrace, through the den beyond that and on the landing waiting
after she’d washed up with Bella’s gold-flecked hand
soap.

But as they often said on the team, a
funny thing happened on the way to the ambush.

Clearing the terrace was an effortless
hump. The glitch came once he hit the den—and found the room
occupied. Sage Hawkins and Rayna Chestain were relaxing on the
plush furniture, looking like new recruits to host one of those
midmorning girlie chat shows. Their giggles had a naughty bite, as
if they were discussing trendy sex positions or new condom flavors.
But for all he knew, the subject could’ve been repurposing dryer
lint into Christmas ornaments. Didn’t matter much. They hushed the
second he entered. A second later, the edge in Rayna’s laugh
climbed into her gaze, gaining a determined light.

Hell. Maybe this was more than a
glitch.

“Ladies.” He nodded and attempted a
cordial smile. “Good evening.”

“Well hi there, Sergeant Archer.” Sage
lifted a hand off her rounded stomach to wave. “Damn. It still
feels good to say that.”

“Ethan.” Rayna issued it with a little
more purpose. “You’re just the guy I was hoping to see.”

Way
more than a glitch.

Shit.

He spread his hands. “Ah, well…here I
am. Now you see me,” —he started toward the door— “and now you
won’t. Sorry I interr—”

“You’re not interrupting.
We were just catching up. We have lots of time to chat again
tomorrow.” Rayna shot one of
those
glances at Sage, comprehendible only if someone
had matching chromosomes. “Can’t we, sweetie?”

“Damn straight.” Sage nodded and
started scooting off the couch. “Best that I go check in with
Sergeant Hawkins anyhow, before he gets paranoid and sends a drone
to scout for me and Little Hawk.”

Ethan offered his arm so Sage could
rise all the way up. After he helped her toward the door, Rayna
motioned for him to shut the door. “You want to sit down?” she
asked as he walked past a flat screen and sound system that
practically begged for his drool.

“Do I have a choice?”

Rayna answered the smirk he
gave it with a little laugh as he lowered into a leather easy
chair. If he wasn’t so sure what was coming next he’d groan his
thanks to the thing for making butter-soft love to his ass, but
Rayna was the closest person on earth to Ava and her scrutiny told
him she wasn’t here to banter about the genius of Bella’s interior
designer. Realigning his features into a determined stare, he
leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He was ready for this
conversation. Had been ready for seven months.
Let it rip, woman.

“So hey, Runway.” Her bright tone was
a sham and they both knew it. “Did you and my cousin have a fun
time this afternoon?”

He let half his smile linger, enough
to tell her he’d clearly understood her meaning behind “fun.” Since
he hadn’t noticed Ava exchanging more than a fast hug or two with
Rayna tonight, he also assumed the query was an informational
fishing expedition.

“Ava worked,” he said. “I helped.” He
purposely didn’t put anything on the hook but that. If Rayna wanted
to make this the share-and-care hour, that was fine, but she’d be
the one sharing. He had the caring part covered. After this
afternoon, more than he wanted to admit.

“Hmm.” Rayna tilted her head, her dark
green eyes probing toward him, her dark red hair falling over the
shoulder of her swimsuit cover thing. “She works hard.”

“Yeah, she does.”

“Nothing got handed to her on a
platter. The career she has is all because of her efforts. And it’s
important to her.”

The talk show banter had progressively
vanished from her voice. Though its newest inflections of
accusation were slight, Ethan combined them with the woman’s
battle-ready body angle, and chose to speak his impression out
loud.

“Is this where we cut through the
bullshit, Rayna?” He squared his shoulders. “Because I’m ready if
you are.”

The woman’s lips lifted. Her pose
straightened. He’d expected as much. The collar at her neck
declared she was Zeke Hayes’s sole submissive, a distinction
requiring a woman of guts, fortitude, and brutal honesty. His
statement conveyed he respected her for all that and
more.

“Fine.” The word was snippy but her
tone was warm. “It was clear to me, after I caught you with my
cousin on Sage and Garrett’s wedding day, that washing Ava’s
lipstick off your face wasn’t going to get her off your
mind.”

“Smart woman,” he murmured.

“Thank you. That makes it easier to
reveal that I did a little reading up on you.”

Ethan didn’t shift his mien. Instinct
told him she was making this interview a part of that “reading.”
He’d learned, not long after donning the Special Forces beret, to
obey the hell out of his intuitions. “Hope it wasn’t too
boring.”

“On the contrary,” Rayna
returned. “Pretty interesting stuff. Let me see if I have this
straight. Ethan Aaron Archer. Turned twenty-six last month. Only
child of Penelope and Robert Archer of Atherton, California. Played
soccer and baseball until high school, switched to polo after
that.” Her features caved to a full what-the-hell. “Polo?
Seriously? Does anyone on
this
side of the world play that?”

“In Atherton they do.” He
fitted his hands together, fingers to fingers, while trying to
maintain his game face. It was his job to dig out shit like this
about other peoples’ lives, not have his own exposed.
Table in the back for one, waiter. Last
name
Uncomfortable
, first name
Very.

Rayna tilted her head on a playful
slant. “So which one did you like the best?”

“Chess.”

“Huh? Never found anything about you
playing chess.”

“Of course you didn’t.” He purposely
cocked a brow. “Not something the parental units wanted out in the
open. Chess players didn’t make interesting conversation pieces at
the summer gala or elegant dance partners for daughters at the
winter cotillion. Neither did video game geeks.”

“What? Say it isn’t so!” Her
scandalized giggle made him grin despite the awkwardness still
parading in his veins.

“My polo coach was a douche, so I’d
cut practice and go hang with my friend Parker. Thanks to his
software guru dad, who was also a gamer, we got advanced beta
copies of all the big ones. Half-Life, Halo, Grand Theft Auto, all
the Marios…” He laughed softly. “Even all the Minecraft
updates.”